


Eight Minutes After The Apocalypse

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale isnt physically in this but Crowley talks about him so much that he gets tagged anyway, Excessive Use of Parentheses, Gen, Heaven & Hell, Indulgent Discussions about Falling, Internal Monologue, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Reflection, Religious Discussion, or a hopeful one at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley had sworn that he would never come back. But as he stood in the sterile, white halls overlooking three Archangels and waiting for his (Aziraphale’s) demise, he was reminded that the word of a demon wasn’t worth much.(Or Crowley masquerades as Aziraphale and reflects on Heaven, Hell, and a feeling that he will need to call 'love' out loud sooner or later.)





	Eight Minutes After The Apocalypse

Crowley had sworn that he would never come back. But as he stood in the sterile, white halls overlooking three Archangels and waiting for his (Aziraphale’s) demise, he was reminded that the word of a demon wasn’t worth much. 

In the beginning (but not that beginning, after light but before the Earth), he had promised himself quite the opposite. In the shock having just sauntered downwards (at the speed of a million lightyears per hour into a pool of burning hot sulfur), he had told himself that he would find a way back. That this wasn’t it, it _couldn’t_ be. Surely, She wouldn’t… She didn’t…

It only took a few moments for him to move past that. By the time Eden had rolled around, the sentiment had been reversed entirely. If there was one place worse than Hell, Crowley had come to realize, it was Heaven. 

He wondered if it had always been this bright_._ He fought the urge to squint in every blinding direction. Aziraphale wouldn’t squint. Aziraphale had no night vision, and eyes that adjusted perfectly to the light of day. Aziraphale stared at the world with beautifully bright, clear eyes full of joy and curiosity and love no matter how blinding it all might have been. Crowley willed his eyes to do the same (more or less).

Still, it was just so damn _bright_. He can remember now, it had irritated him even before he Fell. Distantly, he recalls being grateful when he was placed among the stars. The darkness had made the pinpricks of light dazzling by comparison, but it was the darkness itself which had first captured him. His eyes had widened when he realized the contrast, the depth of it, the beauty and novelty of a void which he had never seen in a temple of light. 

And the _intricacies_ of it all, the way everything in the sky had been bound to rules and patterns. The way that everything was tied together with string, and if you pulled a certain way you could bend entire galaxies in your favor. The way that if one puzzled it out, all the answers were there, plain and simple. (Well, intricate and incredibly complex, but to a then-angel who’d taken to physics like a duck to water, it was simple enough.) 

Crowley had deserved falling. He is almost grateful for it. 

In some ways it had always felt like the pearly gates had been trapping him in. Sure, he’d sang all the songs (at least for a little while) but he had never understood the words. In Heaven, understanding didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you sang (all that mattered was that you obeyed). 

Sure, Hell wasn’t much better. It was, well, hell, but it had its upsides. Crowley could ask questions. Crowley implement his own plans. Crowley could _think_. That was why he could never _truly_ go back: he had never been good at denying his curiosity, and now that he’d had a taste of satiating it, he could never be satisfied leaving everything unanswered. It was like a twisted version of that silly human story with the girl and her box.

Hell was cramped and cruel and dirty, but at least it was upfront about itself. Heaven wasn’t. Heaven was spotless windows and shiny marble on top of bodies that no one had given a second thought to. Heaven was spilling blood (carefully, where it wouldn’t stain the pristine walls) and saying that it’s for their own good. Heaven was being pruned and shaped like a hedge until you couldn’t imagine growing any other way and calling it love. 

Maybe it was love. But if it was, it wasn’t the sort that Crowley could survive receiving for very long. 

He knew a different kind of love now. He saw it in the shade of a wing during a rainstorm, and in a well-manicured hand pressing a glass of wine into his, and in soft gazes held for just slightly long than what is strictly considered friendly. It came with some sharp edges, like denial, and repression, and lying awake at night feeling torn open and raw because _he’d_ reached out and _he’d_ pulled away and if only he could just touch him _once-_

If all goes right, Heaven and Hell won’t matter. He and Aziraphale will, truly and utterly, be on their own side. The idea excited and terrified him. Then he looked into Gabriel’s sharp violet eyes, knowing Aziraphale may never have to face their jagged edges again, and decided it _delighted_ him.

Crowley really did hope Aziraphale was doing fine in Hell. He’d do a spectacular job (because he had to), Crowley was sure of it. But it couldn’t hurt to hope. 

He couldn’t wait to see Aziraphale again. Aziraphale with his halo of soft curls. Aziraphale with the smell of old books and a holiness that would burn from anyone who wasn’t him. Aziraphale with the way his drunken gaze would linger on Crowley’s hands, or his lips, or his thighs, before jerking away. Crowley and how he had been hopeless since Eden, and maybe even before then. 

Maybe Crowley could finally tell him after all of this. Sure, he probably knew it all by now, but maybe saying it would mean they couldn’t avoid addressing it any longer. Or maybe it wouldn’t change anything at all. After everything they went through, though, Crowley found himself willing to take the chance.

They just had to get through this. This was the tricky part. He just had to remember that. He just had to stand straight and keep his pupils round and make it through this alive. 

“Shut your _stupid_ mouth and die already,” said the holiest angel in Heaven. 

It took everything in his power not to do something extremely ill-advised to the thing that would _dare_ say that to Aziraphale. 

When push came to shove, maybe Crowley was glad that he fell. He took a step into the flames, knowing he wouldn’t even feel the heat.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric taken from 'After the Apocalypse' by Squalloscope, which you can listen to here: https://soundcloud.com/squalloscope/after-the-apocalypse


End file.
